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I shifted uncomfortably. “Sixteen.”
“Such a man, but not quite,” she drawled in a way that made me wonder where the conversation was leading.
“I don’t have to be an old man to know certain things,” I said, determined not to sound naïve.
“For true,” she said, slipping into a more casual vernacular. “But you’ll certainly be less of a know-it-all once you’re fully grown and have children to care for.”
“And these are the values you’ll teach your children?”
She poured herself more tea, a move to mask her discomfort. But she quickly regained her composure and turned to me.
“You should be careful not to judge,” she said, her tone slow and deliberate. “Men of sin were always virtuous in the beginning. But your father doesn’t come to me to be virtuous. You’ll understand what I mean once you’re married.”
“So, you’re saying that you’re a better woman than my mother?”
“On the contrary,” she said with raised eyebrows, “I imagine she’s a lovely woman. But she’s onlyonewoman.”
“She’s his wife.”
She bristled at my sharp tone. “That fact doesn’t make her better, it makes her lucky,” she said. “On the other hand, there are advantages to this arrangement. As I get older, being independently wealthy is much more attractive than being legally bound. No matter how you position it, a woman is still a man’s concubine. In this case, your father…he comes, he goes, and I’m free.”
I stood up. “I see you have no shame.”
She sighed. “I didn’t make these rules, Thomas,” she said matter-of-factly. “If you have any issues with this, you should talk to your father. Or better yet, grow up.”
Our eyes met and held. “Rest assured, I will talk to my father,” I said, making my way across the room and then I stopped. “You mentioned something about being free. I wonder, Miss Leveraux, how can anyone, especially a mistress, truly be free if you’re dependent on the generosity of another?”
I had been naïve to think that my visit alone would cause Marie Leveraux to feel shame for being with a married man. On the other hand, she revealed that women in her position have few options and therefore, no amount of positive thinking was going to change the tide. As for my father, it was at this moment the seed of my hatred towards him began to take root. I resented him, not only for embarrassing the family with a looming scandal, but for having the audacity to brag about it. Besides the Rileys, who else had he told? More to the point, how long had the affair been going on?
It was all so maddening to think about because it was only a matter of time before it got back to mother. Marcus’ words, although crude, were the catalyst to my awakening. In hindsight, I should have dismissed the confession and let the matter rest like Joseph had advised. But now, the nagging voice in my head would not be silenced. I needed to unburden myself and confront my father, a man I had apparently never really knew.
Weeks passed and the knowledge of Marie Leveraux continued to weigh heavily on my mind. The words were always right there, just on the tip of my tongue, ready to tumble out at the slightest provocation. But for the sake of my mother, I suppressed them and continued to play the dutiful son. For how could I tell my mother the man she had shared a home and a life with for over twenty years was a fraud? I loved her and couldn’t bear to see her hurt, which only inflamed my resentment further.
I despised him for this and questioned everything he said and did, even to the point of openly disagreeing with him in public. As the days and weeks passed, our arguments became all-out wars and I looked forward to more. Over time, the rush I received from his discomfort was worth any harmony that could have been gained. And his threats to send me off to Stanton only served to strengthen my resolve.
I no longer felt the need to maintain the pretension that had once guided our relationship. And being so young, I didn’t know how to reconcile the feelings that warred within me. I had considered striking out on my own with the money that was in my name, but leaving the plantation without Jeyne was an unthinkable option. In the meantime, I let the rift between me and my father widen, knowing that it was only a matter of time before I would left Bellevue for good.
Chapter Eleven
The next morning Mother called me into her parlor. She was sitting on the sofa, her hands folded in her lap, wearing a simple, yet fashionable dress, with a small shawl covering her delicate shoulders. Her brown hair was parted in the middle and pulled back in a perfect chignon. I looked in her deep, hazel eyes and they looked tired.
“You’re lucky your father hasn’t returned from his trip. He would be none too pleased if he knew you had gone to New Orleans. What would I have said to him?”
“That I was visiting a sick friend.”
“As if he would have believed me,” she said a bit sternly. “On the other hand, there’s not much I can do to hold you here if you don’t want to stay. But for the sake of this family’s peace, be mindful of your movements. It would break our hearts if something happened to you.”
I assured her as best I could, not willing to admit that something quite significant had already happened. Frankly, all I wanted to do was bury my head under my bed covers and go back to sleep. My talk with Marie Levereaux had taken a toll on my psyche.
“I won’t go on and on about it,” she said. “You’re getting taller as the days pass which is a reminder to me that you’re no longer a child.”
I looked down at myself. I didn’t notice anything distinguishable in my appearance except my riding pants. They were fitting a bit more snugly these days – something I attributed to the fine cooking of the house slaves.
“Perhaps I should make tick marks on the wall and measure myself like I did when I was a child,” I suggested.
Mother let out a tinkle of a laugh. “I don’t think Fannie and the others would appreciate you dirtying up their walls.” She reached for my hand. “Seriously, I’d like to talk to you about your father.”
Indeed, my mother had been a front row witness to all arguments and fights between my father and me, encouraging much-needed truces. Her interventions, however, only provided temporary relief from the next planned assault. For my mother’s sake, a formal apology had been, I suppose, long in coming. I was just about to offer it when a familiar face appeared at the door. She was not only my mother’s most trusted house slave – she was also Jeyne’s mother.
